93 Diagon Alley
by Dzeytoun
Summary: Welcome to Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Please examine the merchandise. Everything is perfectly saf...WHOOPS!


Author - Dzeytoun

Rating - PG 13

Category - Humor/General

Disclaimer – Main characters and situations owned by J.K. Rowling

A/N: This fic is based in the same world as my other fics "Here be Monsters," "Daddy's Favorite," and "The Good Serpents."  It is meant to serve as a fluff, comedy line to help relieve the heavy angst from the other fics.  As it follows the same timeline, things will get dark occasionally, but not very often.

93 DIAGON ALLEY

Chapter One:  It Runs in the Family

The Wizarding World of Great Britain, like all worlds, had its various niches and nooks.  Those who dwelled in those crannies tended, once again as in all worlds, to define insiders and outsiders by strict criteria.  In the case of Diagon Alley, insiders, known as proprietors, and outsiders, otherwise called customers, were separated by more than the side of the counter on which they stood.  They were defined by the knowledge they carried and the words they used.  For instance, customers tended to believe that Diagon Alley consisted only of the street upon which the various establishments fronted.  Proprietors, however, knew that the Alley comprised much more than that.  In their parlance, Diagon Alley included not only the street and storefronts, but the buildings themselves, the corporate entities they housed, the persons employed by those entities, the various customs and institutions supported by those persons, and many other things.  Like Hogwarts or the Ministry, Diagon Alley was a cornerstone of the British Wizarding World.  And like Hogwarts or the Ministry, Diagon Alley was much more complex than it at first appeared.

One part of the Alley not often seen by customers was, in fact, a simple geographic supplement to the famous street.  As with Muggle establishments, the stores along the Alley often had to receive shipments, and as with their Muggle counterparts the proprietors of the Alley preferred that the messy business of receiving, unloading, negotiating manifests and the like be conducted outside of public view.  Thus narrow access lanes ran down either side of the Alley, behind the store buildings.  These lanes, and the tunnels and access passageways that connected them with each other and the Alley proper, provided a system of private streets along which the Alley proprietors moved, visited, conducted internecine business, and otherwise maintained their flourishing subculture.  This network was interrupted only by the boundaries of Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley's bastard child, and the security barriers of Gringott's Bank.  

Along this private system of access routes, known collectively to the proprietors as "the Lane" as if they consisted of only one small street, one could regularly see things even most wizards would consider peculiar.  Thus no one thought it particularly odd when, one day in early May of 1996, two identical redheaded teenagers apparated into the lane carrying broomsticks festooned with chains.  The pair exchanged triumphant glances, slung the brooms over their shoulders, and set off with identical struts, the metalware hanging down their backs jingling and jangling cheerfully.

They had not gone far when something that looked like a pile of well-used rags stirred, coughed, and rose to its feet.  The pair stopped and looked at the disreputable figure with identical grins.

"Hello Dung," the first began.

"We hope you haven't been waiting long," the other finished.

Mundungus Fletcher, confidence man, purveyor of discount items of undocumented provenance, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and general good-hearted rogue, shook his head ruefully and plucked his smoldering pipe from between his teeth. "No, I haven't been waiting long.  I just managed to slip out from under your mother's nose.  She's at Headquarters, fit to peel paint off the walls with that tongue of hers."

"ULP!" Both of the teenagers said in unison.

"That's right, ULP!" Fletcher took another draw on his pipe and looked at them darkly.  "You might let her know where you are.  Molly and I have had our differences," his sharp glance cut off their snickers, "but I'm not one to see a mother in a state like that!  The poor woman is going to lay an occamy egg any minute now!"

"Well she can sell it," Fred Weasley started.

"For the silver." George finished.

Their smiles, however, were weak.  Fred's nose twitched uncomfortably, and George looked just slightly sheepish.

"That isn't funny," Dung replied, although his mouth seemed to want to curve upward.  "And besides, your father has enough on his head with Fudge and your brother to contend with!  He doesn't need Molly nagging him into the grave wanting to know what he's doing to find you two rascals!"

This time both of them lost their smiles.  George suddenly looked sad, a most unnatural expression for his features.  Fred's face flushed with anger. 

"What has Percy the Prat done this time?" Fred growled.  It was a sure sign of his anger that he didn't wait for George to finish his sentence.

"Arthur invited him to come over to your house come the end of the term.  He said he would be too busy, _whatever_ night it was planned.  Molly was in tears for three days."

George continued to frown.  "What did Mom and Dad,"

"Want _him_ over for?" Fred said.

"To celebrate you two taking your NEWTS and finishing Hogwarts."

"Oh." The two of them stared at their feet.

"Well," Dung said, "what's done is done.  Let's get you set up and you can hurry up making your folks proud.  And," his eyes sparkled suddenly, "yourselves rich!"

The twins' good spirits returned instantly.  The both looked expectantly at the old pirate.

"Come along.  Number 93 is just down here."  He led them a good way down the alley.  The twins jogged along behind.  George, typically the more thoughtful of the two, noted approvingly that Dung had not lied in his letters when he said their new premises were very close to Gringott's.  They stopped behind a building of promising size, and Fletcher produced a large key that he used to unlock the double door that was obviously intended for receiving shipments.  He pushed it open with a flourish.

The door swung open with a loud protesting screech like the dying curse of an aged owl, letting light flood into a shipping room that had not known it for more than a decade.  Spiders, roaches, and nameless many-legged creatures scuttled quickly to escape the unaccustomed radiance, which grew brighter as three wands flared simultaneously with the _lumos_ charm.  The three men entered slowly, moving toward a broad ramp leading down, using their wands as torches to reveal the nature of the structure's insides.

"Are you sure this is the right building Dung?" George asked with an unusual lack of ease.

"Because it certainly doesn't look like you described it to us," his twin continued, finishing the thought if not the sentence.

"Now boys," Fletcher answered easily, "I said it had a large basement with a loading ramp leading to the back, and here it is."

They entered into the basement.  Both of them had to admit it was indeed very large.  It was also so filled with spider webs that all three men were soon encased in silken shrouds.

"And here is the staircase going up!"  Mundungus led them up a stairway that creaked ominously.

"Uhh, Dung," George objected, "these stairs don't seem very safe."

"That ramp creaked, too." Fred observed.

"Are either of you familiar with Diagon Alley building codes?"

"Uhh, no." George allowed.

"Either of you architects?  Muggle structural engineers?"

"No." Fred admitted.

"Well, there you have it."  Dung said in a tone that proclaiming this settled the situation.

They came up into a rectangular area.  "Back room," Dung explained.  "Those stairs on the other side lead upstairs to the offices.  Through here is the front part of the store."

They passed into large room that would, if all went well, become the display area proper.  It was as dark and dingy as the rest of the building, although thankfully not filled with spiderwebs like the basement.

"Well, how do you like it?" Dung asked in a "you-would-be-a-fool-if-you-don't-love-it" voice.

"Uhhh..." Fred said.

"It's... dark." George finally remarked.

"Oh, no problem," Dung exclaimed.  "The windows front the whole room.  They're just boarded up at the moment.  Here, let's open the door."  Fishing out the appropriate key, he proceeded to suit action to word.  The light flooding in through the open door did indeed help reveal much – mainly dust, dirt, and filth.

"Well," George allowed, "it _is_ large."

"And it _is _close to Gringott's," Fred added.

"Good, I knew you would approve!" Dung dusted his hands together with the air of one enjoying a job well done.  "Now, there is just the issue of the mortgage registration fee."

"Errr...fee?"  George raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, stinkin' goblin bankers.  The prat in the mortgage office pulled that one on me last week.  It isn't much though.  Just fifty more galleons."

"Well," Fred answered, "if it's necessary."

"Look boys.  I don't like dealing with all this any more than you do.  But Gringott's does have the corner on the market, so to speak."

"Well," Fred mused, "I guess we could afford that."

"Of course you could!  Why, you'll make it up in no time!"

"But we do have inventory coming in, Fred," George ventured.

"Like Dung said," his twin responded firmly, "this is just the cost of doing business.  And we'll make it back soon."

"Well..."

"I'll go over and get the money from our account," Fred announced briskly.  "Why don't I just have it transferred to the mortgage office?"

"Well, son, I don't know if that's such a good idea.  You're not used to dealing with the goblins and all, and they might be tempted to take advantage."

The twins exchanged glances.  Dung _was_ used to dealing with Gringott's?

"Besides, you probably don't want to be seen hanging around the bank right now, not if you want to escape a good dressing down."

"Bill!" the brothers said in unison.

"Exactly.  He's as worried as your father and as angry as your mother!"

"Good point, Dung!" Fred exclaimed.  "I'll be in and out faster than a spider with a basilisk on its track!"

"Why don't you just give me the vault number and I'll see about the transfer myself?"

"Well Dung, that isn't such a good idea.  Not that we don't trust you but..." Fred started.

"Good business practice and all." George finished.  The twins both nodded firmly.

"Right you are boys!" Fletcher chuckled.  "Just withdraw the money and I'll take care of the rest.  Oh, and there are some papers here you need to sign!" He withdrew a sheaf of parchments from his dirty coat.

"Later Dung," Fred said with authority.  "I will be right back."  Straightening his clothes, he marched out with a confidant stride that missed only a little being a strut.

"Well, let's do something about the boards over these windows, why don't we?" Dung asked George.  

"Great idea!  _Accio_ boards!"

"No!" Fletcher yelled, too late.  The boards pulled loose from the windows, bringing nails, splinters, and a large amount of glass from the weakened, cracked panes with them.

"Uhmm...."

"Don't bother, son." Dung shook his head ruefully.  "Just transfigure one of those boards into a broom and let's get to work.  Unless, you want to use one of those." He gestured to the chain-wrapped broomsticks.

"Not a chance!  Those are getting mounted behind the counter!"

"Reminder of the last adventure at Hogwarts?"

"Sure!  We figure people will be talking about that one for years!"

"I'll say!" Dung chuckled.  "But why are the chains still hanging off them?"

"Badges of honor."

"I see."  Fletcher crossed his arms and shook his head again.  "Where have you two been for the last three days, anyway?"

"Well, we know some places near Hogsmeade you can use when you don't want to be bothered."

"I see.  They sure must be private.  Your family's been combing that part of the world with everything except Muggle bloodhounds."

"Oh, they're private all right.  We used to...ahhh."

"I can imagine, son.  I can imagine."  They swept in silence for a couple of minutes.  "Do you think I might borrow one of those places sometime?  I occasionally have some business discussions and it would be nice to have, well, you know."

"Sure," George answered brightly, "I think so, Dung.  But they don't come cheap!"

"They never do, son."

"But could you not call me that?  Anybody but Dad calling me 'son' is a little freaky."

"I'm sorry Fred."

"I'm George!"

"And now you know why I've been calling you son.  By the way, what could be keeping that brother of yours?"

"Nothing at all!" Fred exclaimed as he came back into the shop.  "What happened here?"

"Just cleaning up," George replied evenly.  "Did you see Bill?"

"No.  Like I said, in and out!"

"It seems you did bring back a follower, though!" Fletcher shifted and leaned on his broom, pointing to the doorway.

The twins looked apprehensively in the direction Dung was indicating.  Framed in the doorway stood a dark-haired boy, looking somewhere between two and three.  He stared about, wide-eyed.  Finally his gaze settled on Fred.  "Hahwee?" he asked softly.

"Uhhh, no, I'm not..."

"HAHWEE!!" The child flung himself forward and wrapped his small arms around Fred's calf, chuckling happily.  "Hahwee, Hahwee, Hahwee!"

Fred looked helplessly over at his brother, who looked back with a half-amused, half-panicked grin.  The only two young siblings they had ever dealt with were Ginny, whom they treated with a delicacy that drove the girl insane, and Ronniekins, who they had always somehow managed to reduce to screaming tears.

"Where'd he come from?" George asked.

"OUTSIDE!" Fred shouted irritably.

The child looked up, his eyes expanding rapidly to thrice their size.  George groaned as king-sized shrieks began to pour from the pint-sized body.

"WAAAH!"

Fred began to do a kind of funny shuffling dance, trying to shake the clinging boy off.  The child, who might normally have found this vastly amusing, just cried harder and clutched tighter.

"For heaven's sake!" Dung exploded irritably, "Quiet him down!  You'll have half of the Alley in here in a minute!"

"I'm trying!" Fred hissed, his mind filled with images of what his mother would say when she found out about their arrest for kidnapping.

Then Mundungus Fletcher showed that, like most people, he had surprising depths.  "Stop that!" he said to Fred, keeping his voice relatively low.  As the dancing Weasley came to a halt, the old pirate knelt next to child and offered him one dirty hand.  "Hi!" he said with a grin.

"Hi!" the child answered, his tears ceasing.  He placed his own grimy little fist in Dung's big paw.  "Hew?"

"No, not Hugh, Dung.  What's your name?"

"Oscew."

"Oscar.  That's a good name.  Where's your mom and dad?"

"Gone."

"Gone where?  Are they shopping?"

The child shook his head and buried his face in Fred's leg.  The young man whispered urgently "My leg's going to sleep, Dung!"

"Hahwee!" Oscar chuckled.

"He thinks you're Harry!  How'd that happen?" George asked.

Dung silenced them with a glare.  "Are you alone Oscar?"

The child looked up and shook his head.  "Gwanpa!  Wivia!"

"Oh, your grandfather?  Well that is very nice Oscar.  That is very nice indeed."  He grinned, looking simultaneously roguish and completely harmless.  "Look, I know you went to a lot of trouble to capture young George..."

"FRED!"

"Whoever.  But hunting's got to make a man hungry.  Especially for ice cream!"

"ISCREAM!"

"That's right.  What say you let go and we'll all get some."

"Hotay."  The chubby arms unlocked themselves and Oscar sat down heavily.  The three men braced themselves for another flood of tears but the boy just grinned.  "Go boom!"

"That's right," Dung swept the boy up and onto the dusty counter, "go boom!"

Oscar looked around wide-eyed.  He stared at George and smiled.  "Hahwee!"

"No, Oscar, I'm not Harry, he's Harry!" George pointed at his twin with a grin.  Identity confusion was something they were used to.

"I'm not Harry either!" Fred shot his brother a rare glance of annoyance.  "I know Harry, though."

Oscar looked back at George with a small frown.  Then his face lightened.  "Dwahgo!"

George looked like he was going to be sick.  "Now see here!  I'm definitely not Draco!"

"Dwahgo!" The boy crossed his chubby arms and giggled.  "Hew," he said, pointing at Dung.

"Whatever." Dung shook his head and smiled.  "Magical Law Enforcement has an office near Florean Fortescue's to handle just these situations.  I'll take the kid over and get his ice cream, then drop him off with the officers.  I'm sure his grandfather will be along shortly."

"He's along now," a voice came from the doorway, surprising all three of them.

The figure that strode into the shop was strangely familiar.  Strangely, because none of the three adults were used to seeing him outside his own premises.  Oscar, however, had no such problem.  "Grandpa!"

"Yes, Oscar, it's Grandpa.  Have you been bothering our new neighbors?"  The old man walked over and gathered the child into his arms.

Fred was the first to find his voice.  "Mr. Ollivander!"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley.  I hope you are well.  Both of you."

"Yes, sir," they chorused in unison.

"Hahwee!" Oscar volunteered happily, pointing in the twins' general direction.  "Dwahgo!"

"That's right, Oscar!" Mr. Ollivander bounced the boy in his arms, beaming.  "Holly and dragon heart string, thirteen inches!"

Fred and George exchanged glances.  It ran in the family?

"This is holly and dragon heart string, right handed spiral core," Ollivander said slowly, pointing at Fred, "and this is holly and dragon heart string, left handed spiral core," he indicated George.

"Spiwew!" Oscar repeated.  The boy looked at Mundungus.  "Hew," he said solemnly."

"That's right!" Ollivander was obviously overjoyed, "Yew, eleven inches, phoenix feather, quite a surprise for a core, I remember." He looked at Dung and winked.

"ISCREAM!" Oscar suddenly yelled.

"Ice cream?"  Ollivander blinked and shook his head.  "You don't make wands with ice cream cores, Oscar.  Well, I suppose there might be a market as children's novelties..."

"I think he meant he wants ice cream, Mr. Ollivander," George said, "we sort of promised him."

"Oh.  OH!  I see."  Ollivander grinned, an expression none of them had seen him wear before.  "Wonderful idea!  Why don't we all walk over to Fortescue's?  My treat."

They acquiesced bemusedly.  Fred and George were slightly dazed.  This was the mysterious and slightly feared purveyor of wands to the British wizarding world?

Dung locked the door to the shop and the odd little group walked slowly down to the ice cream parlor.  Soon they were seated on comfortable benches, enjoying their treats.  Fred and George watched Ollivander with disbelief, answering his questions as he talked easily, asking after their relatives, their friends, and the happenings at Hogwarts.  He seemed rather like at elderly and slightly dotty uncle.

Suddenly Ollivander caught himself and started to chuckle softly.  "Here I am forgetting what I came to see you about!"

"You came to see us?" Fred began.  "We thought..."

"You came after Oscar," George finished.

"Oh, of course.  I lost this little scamp on the way over and hoped he had found his way to your shop!" He bounced the boy who burped around a mouthful of pumpkin ice cream.

"But I wanted to welcome you to the Alley.  I'm so pleased someone decided to move into the old herpetorium."

"Herpetorium?" George gulped.  "As in snakes?"

"Yes.  You boys wouldn't remember, but that used to be Ophidia's Serpents and Reptiles.  It folded, let's see, about fifteen years ago now."

"No customers?" George continued.

"Not many.  Ophidia Pit was behind it.  She was hoping to get Hogwarts to change its rules and allow snakes as pets.  Thought she would make a killing selling to the Slytherins."

"What an idea!" Mundungus commented admiringly.  "Too bad Dumbledore would never go for it."

"Oh, I don't know.  Albus might well have been willing to loosen the rules, but the more conservative elements would never have stood for it."  Ollivander shook his head ruefully.  "She made a go of it for five years though, before the Aurors moved in."

"AURORS!" The three men yelled and jumped.  Oscar giggled.

"Yes.  Turns out she was peddling forbidden animal products out the back door.  Rumor said they caught her selling acromantula eggs.  I hope you boys didn't find the place full of spider webs."

Fred, George, and Dung all paled.

"I don't suppose one of those things could have stayed hidden in there all this time, anyway.  Ophidia was also selling poisons.  _Knockturner_!" The last word was obviously an insult.  "She got hauled off to Azkaban.  I guess you boys got the place for next to nothing."

"Errrr...."

"By Alley standards, that is," Ollivander added, smiling.

"By Alley standards," Fred agreed.

"Could have done without that mortgage registration fee, though," George complained.  "Things are going to be tight until we can open."

"What registration fee?" Ollivander asked, his eyes narrowing.

"At Gringott's..." Fred started, then trailed off.  "Dung, wasn't it at Gringott's?"

"Not Vorgol again!" Ollivander's face reddened.  "That's it!  I'll complain to the Directors in the morning.  This is the third time he's tried to line his pockets with those fees of his.  Twenty-five galleons to register a mortgage!"

"Fifty!" Fred said.  "Wasn't it Dung?"

"Uhh, yes." Fletcher looked determinedly at the floor.

Ollivander surveyed the old rogue and sighed. "You know, Dung, sometimes I wonder about that phoenix feather myself."

Fletcher shuffled his feet and shrugged.  "Vorgol must have thought he could get double his money."

"Sure Dung," George said wearily.  For some reason he felt disappointed.  He didn't know why, knowing Fletcher as he did.  Nevertheless, he was still disappointed.

"Boys, this is exactly why you need to join us in D.A.D.D.I.E."  Ollivander smiled paternally at the twins.

"What?" they inquired together.

"Diagon Alley Distributed Directory of Interested Entrepreneurs.  It is the professional organization of proprietors here in the Alley.  We try to support each other, enforce standards of integrity, and keep an eye on things like this mortgage game."

"Sounds great!" Fred exclaimed.

"Yes, and it's only a hundred galleons a year base fee to the first hundred thousand galleons in net sales, then one half of one-percent on all net sales thereafter!"

The twins started to say something, but Ollivander whipped a thick sheaf of papers from his pocket, together with a quill.  "Here you go!  Sign here.  Meetings are second Tuesday nights.  We'll put Vorgol on next month's agenda.  We will bill you for the first hundred galleons, but please pay before filing your first tax documents.  Sign here and here.  Oh, and of course we will need copies of all your tax documents for your assessments.  You get discounts at all Alley establishments, did you know?  It goes on top of all existing discounts – and I have wand care kits at 20 percent off this week.  Sign here George.  Thank you."

Dung was watching Ollivander with a look of sheer admiration.  The wandmaker winked at him slowly as the twins scrawled their signatures in the various spots.

"Grandfather!" The new speaker was approaching from the other end of Fortescue's.  "There you are!"

Fred and George looked up and their jaws dropped in unison.  The young woman coming toward them was nothing short of stunning.  Tall and raven-haired, she moved with a grace that sat well on a body that could not have been more than two decades old.  Her large blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and her clothes managed to be both practical and tight in all the right places (and her places were most definitely right).

"Wivia!" Oscar screamed.

"Yes, Olivia." Ollivander whisked the papers away from the twins.  "I hope you weren't worried."

"And why shouldn't I be?  You-Know-Who back and my family disappears!" The young woman put her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing.

"So you believe in young Potter, do you?" Mundungus growled.

"I hope you aren't one of those fools who doesn't!" Olivia snapped.

"Far from," George said.

"He is one of our best friends," Fred added.

"Oh.  You must be the Weasleys."  She looked at them, her eyes softening drastically.

"Yes, Olivia.  This is Fred, thirteen inch holly and dragon heart strings, right hand spiral core, and George, thirteen inch holly and dragon heart strings, left hand spiral core."

"Hmm," Olivia said, cocking her head and giving a mysterious smile, "long and supple."

Both the twins rapidly reddened to match their hair.

"Yes my dear," Ollivander said with a perfectly straight face, "and inch and a half in diameter."

"Nice and thick, then."  Olivia flicked her eyes back and forth from one twin to the other.  

Fred started making gasping noises.  George appeared to be melting.

"Yes my dear.  All the Weasleys are like that.  Runs in the family, you know."  Ollivander's expression did not flinch.

"Must be why young Weasleys keep coming through the shop so regularly." Olivia's smile broadened.

Fletcher cleared his throat.  Ollivander threw him an annoyed look.  "Oh yes.  This is Mundungus Fletcher, yew and phoenix father, eleven inches."

"Phoenix feather," Olivia repeated, lifting her eyebrows.

"Phoenix feather," Ollivander said flatly.

"Well, the best and the worst," Olivia said, surveying Dung skeptically, "phoenix chooses both of them."

"That it does, my dear."

"We never saw you...." George gasped.

"At Hogwarts." Fred sighed.

"I'm a squib," Olivia explained.  "I take university courses when I'm not helping Grandfather Othman."

"I'm sorry," the twins said simultaneously.

"Why?" Olivia raised her eyebrows again.  Then she sighed and bent to pick up Oscar.

The twins looked at each other, stunned into silence.

"Well, it's late.  You two might as well come to supper.  You also Mr. Fletcher.  Unless, of course, it would offend you to eat food prepared by a squib."

The twins both sprang up and almost fell from tripping on their own feet.  Olivia just shook her head. "You two can come by the grocery with me.  We'll pick up some food while Grandfather double checks some things at the shop.  Would you mind helping Grandfather Othman, Mr. Fletcher?"

"Not at all, Miss Olivia, not at all."

Olivia swept away, the twins stumbling in her wake.  Dung watched them go with amusement.

"Well," Ollivander said, "let's go, Mr. Fletcher."

"Mr. Ollivander?"

"Yes, Mr. Fletcher?"

"What kind of wand to _you_ carry?"

Ollivander looked at Dung and smiled puckishly.  "Don't be impertinent, Mr. Fletcher."

A/N: Well, we're off.  I have started a Yahoo group called Dzeytoun's Writing Room for the purpose of discussing my fics.  It will allow those of you who are interested in my writing to communicate with each other and me in a more convenient and timely way.  I invite and urge all of you to join.  Membership is open, and its location is noted in my profile.  I look forward to discussions in that forum, as well as on fanfiction.net.  I have uploaded all of my fics to the files section of the group, and I will be putting up other useful items, including a master timeline that will allow a reader to correlate happenings among all my fics.


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